


If horses were wishes

by Ernmark (M_Moonshade)



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Dampierre is not what he seems, Gen, second citadel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 10:23:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11965434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/Ernmark
Summary: “You don’t have to worry about Arum. He’s already promised not to harass my patients.”“Maybe so, but how does he feel about horses?”Outside, the monster hisses. “If I see any, I’ll be sure to let you know.”Well, that was uncalled for. “Don’t listen to him, Dampierre. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”





	If horses were wishes

“Marc, look over here.” Honestly, Marc isn’t sure why Talfryn bothers. He’s pointing at a spot on a tree that looks like every other spot on every single other tree in this forest, but it seems to mean a lot to him. At least he elaborates. “Claw marks. Something’s been climbing here, and recently.”

Now that might just catch Marc’s attention. “Now when you say ‘something’, are we talking about a lemur, or…”

He has his answer in the flick of Dampierre’s ears and the swish of his tail even before Tal can reply. 

“With claws like these and marks this deep, it would have to be as large as a grown man. Maybe even larger. And see how they’re spaced here? Two sets of marks, one spaced closer together than the other, and then these deeper ones here? It’s got six limbs.” He hesitates, certain only of his uncertainty. “…I think.”

“Six limbs, big as a man. Got it.” Marc strokes his horse’s withers. “Nothing we can’t handle.” He tries to sound more confident than he feels, for Dampierre and Talfryn’s sakes. It isn’t that he’s got any doubt about cutting whatever it is into chutney– that much won’t be a problem– he’s more concerned about the kind of trouble a monster could cause in the meantime. Or that it might have caused already.

After all, they aren’t far from Rilla’s hut.

“But first, I’m feeling a bit peckish. Do you think Rilla will let us drop in for lunch?” Because of course he can’t actually say he’s worried about her. That will just get Tal worked up, and then it’ll get back to Rilla, and she’ll be furious. Nope, it’s better to pretend that everything’s fine and he’s got nothing to worry about. She can handle herself.

Still, he urges Dampierre into a canter, just in case. 

* * *

As a matter of fact, Rilla does invite them in to eat with her– maybe because Marc still has two weeks’ worth of medicine left, and they’ve actually got money to pay her for once, thanks to that wererat they nabbed a few villages over. And that gives Marc plenty of time to ease into the question.

“By the way, I was wondering. You wouldn’t happen to have seen anything… oh, I don’t know, unusual around here lately, would you?”

Maybe he’s laying it on a bit too thick, because Rilla raises an eyebrow. “You do understand where we are, right?”

“Oh,” Tal says, catching on. “You mean the monster?”

“That’s the one,” Marc says. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen one lately, have you? About yea tall,” he gestures to roughly Talfryn’s height. “Six limbs? Claws that could rend a man in half?”

“Oh no.” Rilla rolls her eyes so hard her head tips back. “What did he get himself into?”

He’s expecting a lot of reactions. That was not one of them. “Wait. What?”

“You can call off the hunt. That’s just Arum.” 

Before Marc can demand to know how claws that can rend a man in half can make for _just_ anything, but he’s interrupted by a menacing rattle that uncurls from somewhere over the roof. Instantly his hand flies to his sword.

“ _Lord_ Arum,” Rilla corrects, already sounding bored with the habit. “ _Who rules the Swamp of Titans’ Bloom_. Happy now?” She sighs. “Don’t mind him. He’s just sulking because Damien’s away.” 

“I am not sulking,” hisses a strange, reptilian voice, and Marc’s grip tightens on the hilt of his sword. That sounded like it came from just outside. He didn’t miss the freshly-plastered gouges in the walls, or the brand-new door. 

“You know, it’s getting a bit stuffy in here,” he says. “Maybe I should wait outside.” If there’s trouble, he doesn’t want to lose so much as a second to getting onto Dampierre. 

Rilla rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to worry about Arum. He’s already promised not to harass my patients.” 

“Maybe so, but how does he feel about horses?” Marc counters.

Outside, the monster hisses. “If I see any, I’ll be sure to let you know.” 

Well, that was uncalled for. “Don’t listen to him, Dampierre. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” 

* * *

Time flies by, most of it spent catching up with Rilla about this and that. Marc must have let himself fall deeper into the conversation than he expected, because he’s only snapped out of it by the shrill sound of a whinny. 

He glances through the window. Dampierre is standing outside, tossing his head. And mere feet away from him is an enormous lizard. It’s the one from before– it has to be, all six limbs and razor claws and murderous eyes– and it’s hissing and snarling like a demon right out of hell.

“Hey!” he snaps, reaching for his sword again. “Get away from my horse, you– you monster!” Just because he doesn’t like to crawl doesn’t mean he won’t. He can be at Dampierre’s side in seconds and carve the monster to ribbons from the ankles up. 

The monster looks irate, but he doesn’t start a fight. He just casts a glance at Rilla and slithers away with a hiss.

* * *

You would think that would be the last of it, but it isn’t.

The next time they stop at Rilla’s hut, he notices the way Dampierre’s ears follow something just out of sight. The time after that, he notices the telltale signs of claw marks in the trees even before Talfryn points them out. The next time he spots him, just for a split second, nearly invisible in the branches overhead.

There are more obvious signs, of course. Namely the sound of whinnying and hissing while he and Tal are inside with Rilla.

“He’s back again?” he mutters under his breath. And then louder: “Rilla, will you tell your lizard to quit harassing Dampierre?” 

She raises an eyebrow. “What makes you think he’s harassing him?”

“Just listen to him!” he snaps. “What else would he be doing?”

Rilla glances out at the lizard, who has the nerve to look offended at all of this. The nerve! 

“They seem to be getting along pretty well, if you ask me,” she says.

And sure, it _looks_ like that. But everyone knows that sometimes people smile and act friendly when they’re actually uncomfortable, and it’s no different for horses. Obviously.

* * *

“It’s just a little bit farther,” Talfryn urges. 

“You hear that, Dampierre? We’re almost there. You can make it, buddy.” Marc tries not to let the panic into his voice. 

He’s going to kill that innkeeper. The bastard cut his hay with a bunch of weeds he found on the side of the road somewhere, like the irresponsible charlatan that he is, and Dampierre ate them. For the past hour he’s been complaining about his aching stomach and his feet, demanding that they take off his shoes.

He’s delirious. 

When all this is over, Marc’s going to find that goddamn cheapskate and cut him open crosswise. 

But later. After they get to Rilla. After she puts together some kind of… of antidote or _something_ for Dampierre. He’s going to be okay. _He has to be okay._

But they can’t keep going. Dampierre is shivering. Saints above, he looks awful. “Tal, can you–”

Tal doesn’t even wait for him to finish. “I‘ll be right back,” he promises, and he takes off running. Meanwhile Marc works on unbuckling the straps on his legs. The less weight Dampierre has to carry, the better. The moment he swings himself out of the saddle, Dampierre’s legs bend, and he rolls onto his side.

This is bad. This is really bad.

“It’s gonna be fine, Dampierre. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

No, it isn’t, and he hates himself for knowing it.

“We’re not too far from Rilla’s place now,” he says, gathering Dampierre’s head to rest on his lap. “The lake’s just a little ways that way. It’s where we met, remember?” 

Dampierre lets out a pained whinny. 

“What were you even doing all the way out here by yourself?” 

Rather than answer him, Dampierre lifts his head to nip at his hooves– and then he goes still, suddenly alert.

For once, Marc is grateful when he sees the familiar flick of Dampierre’s ears and the signs of recent clawmarks in the trees. 

“Hey!” he shouts, loud enough to make nearby birds scatter. “Hey, you! Lord Arum!” Normally he wouldn’t dignify the lizard with a title, but Dampierre’s fading and Marc isn’t taking any chances. 

The lizard slithers into sight, still half-woven between the branches overhead. “You again.” 

“Listen, I need you to go get Rilla,” Marc says. “And hurry. Dampierre’s sick.”

“Oh?” Infuriatingly, Arum doesn’t take off through the trees. Instead he climbs down, peering at Dampierre. “You’ve eaten something you shouldn’t have. You’ll need to get it out before it kills you.”

“Dammit, go get Rilla! He needs help!”

Arum ignores him. “I could fetch some ipecac root.”

“Horses can’t vomit, you idiot!” Marc is shouting now. Maybe he shouldn’t, because Dampierre flinches at the outburst.

“No, they can’t,” Arum mutters. “But you can. So why don’t you?” He creeps forward, predatory in his curiosity. “Is this really a secret worth dying for?”

“Leave him alone!” Marc pulls himself between the lizard and his horse, his sword already drawn. “Don’t listen to him, Dampierre.”

“Open your eyes, human,” Arum hisses. “That’s no more a horse than I’m a newt.”

Marc takes a swing that would have cut any other monster in half, if he’d bothered to aim it right. “I said shut up!”

“He will die if he tries to remain as he is. If you want him to survive, then you must let him change into something that can still be saved.” 

Marc has half a mind to beat the lizard senseless with his bare hands, but Dampierre has gone suddenly still. What Arum just said meant something to him.

“What’s he talking about?” Marc asks quietly.

Dampierre’s eyes are rolling. He’s scared.

“What is it? What do you need?”

Dampierre tosses his head and leans in again, nipping at his hooves. 

“Your feet?” What was he saying earlier? “You were talking about taking off your…” The realization feels heavy all of a sudden. “Your horseshoes.”

Dampierre tosses his head in a wild, frantic nod.

Arum snarls. “Of all the barbaric–”

But Marc doesn’t care what the lizard things. He pulls crawls to Dampierre’s feet and draws a knife, prying off the first horseshoe as gently as he can. Sure, this isn’t theright tool for the job, but it’s been a while since they’ve been able to go to a farrier, so the horseshoes aren’t on nearly as tight as they should be. Arum is behind him, working the shoes off Dampierre’s hind hooves with the same urgency that Marc feels. Four arms help him do the job faster, and while Marc works on the final horseshoe, Arum works on taking off the saddle, the saddle blanket, the bridle.

And then, with one last pull, the final shoe comes off.

The change is instant. Dampierre shrinks down, his long neck retreating, his barrel chest receding into something else entirely. The hind hooves remain as they are, but the front ones lengthen and separate into slender hands; where there was dark chestnut fur, there’s smooth, gray-green skin. He’s on his hands and knees, clinging to the ground like he’s scared he might slide off– and then he lets loose and retches onto the forest floor. 

For a second, Marc just stares. He has no idea what just happened. But he’s a knight, whether anyone else will acknowledge that or not, and knights are men of action. He leans forward and gathers Dampierre’s hair– _is_ that hair? It feels more like seaweed– away from his face and holds it back. Dampierre keeps vomiting until there’s nothing left in him to bring up anymore and he’s left dry heaving. When he finally finishes, he’s weak and shaking. 

“I suppose you feel better now,” Arum says, watching them from a perch far out of reach of the mess and smell. 

Marc ignores him. “Dampierre?” 

The man looks at him, still unsteady. His yellow slitted eyes look like they’d be more at home on a water snake, but there’s nothing monstrous about the way he’s looking at Marc. 

“You…” Marc takes a steadying breath. “You’re really not a horse, are you?”

“Of course not,” Arum says impatiently. “Haven’t you ever heard of a kelpie?”

**Author's Note:**

> Kelpies are a favorite monster of mine, and woefully underutilized. 
> 
> According to Wikipedia:  
> "Kelpie, or water kelpie, is the Scots name given to a shape-shifting water spirit inhabiting the lochs and pools of Scotland. It has usually been described as appearing as a horse, but is able to adopt human form.   
> Kelpies have the ability to transform themselves into non-equine forms, and can take on the outward appearance of human figures, in which guise they may betray themselves by the presence of water weeds in their hair. In their human form, kelpies are almost invariably male. Some accounts state that the kelpie retains its hooves when appearing as a human."
> 
> When they're not tricking children and would-be horse thieves onto their backs and drowning them, kelpies are described as seeking companionship, and sometimes approach people in a humanoid form seeking to marry them.


End file.
